


Things Can Only Get Better

by takumiismypatronus



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, References to Addiction, college Reunion, letting go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 10:39:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8053132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takumiismypatronus/pseuds/takumiismypatronus
Summary: 2010. Alicia (Laurent) Zimmermann ’85 has ulterior motives for taking Jack to Samwell for her 25-year reunion.





	Things Can Only Get Better

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the 1985 hit by Howard Jones.
> 
> This was inspired by my own 25-year reunion at a private liberal arts college in the Midwest.

Jack looks anxious when they pull into the parking lot of Samwell University’s new student services building, the Carl Curtis ’36 Center.

“Give me a number,” Alicia says to her son, turning and smoothing his hair from his forehead. He needs a haircut, but that’s on him.

“Two,” he says. “I’m fine, _maman_.”

Two _is_ fine. On Jack’s scale of anxiety, an eight is just before he tips into not being able to answer the question, but a two is just an uncomfortable, low-level worry over unknown situations. She wonders if he’ll ever get to the point where a one is his common state.

“I think you’re really going to like this. It’s like school without any pressure. There’s not even homework!”

“I like homework,” Jack says honestly. “And there were those assigned readings they asked us to do. Don’t tell me you blew it off.” He’s smiling now. If he’s chirping her, he’s really doing okay.

“I promise, I was a better student twenty-five years ago.”

Alicia had two things in mind when she invited Jack to come to her alumni reunion at Samwell. First, he was just eleven months into his recovery and she still wanted him close. It was as much for her as it was for him. More so. Second, she hoped that getting him onto a college campus might spark his interest in higher education. He still sometimes talked about the NHL, but it always made his anxiety spike. To her relief, he was skipping the draft again this year, his last year of eligibility. At the same time, he didn’t really have a plan for his immediate future.

They follow the directional signage into the lobby and Alicia takes a moment to look around. The last time she was at Samwell this building was under construction. The front of Curtis is all glass and faces East Quad. The building houses a dining hall, a small art gallery, the Student Government Association offices, and the campus post office. Right now, the lobby is a bustle of activity as people check in for “alumni college,” a day and a half of casual learning before the social whirlwind of reunion properly starts.

They pick up their name badges, meal tickets, schedule, and room keys.

“We’re not sharing a room?” Jack asks, surprised.

Alicia just gives him a look. “I don’t want to wake you if I come in late…And I’ll probably come in late.”

“You’re going to embarrass me, aren’t you? Promise me, no shenanigans.”

She laughs at his serious expression. “Don’t worry! But Jack,” she lowers her voice as they leave for their residence hall, “I don’t need to remind you that alcohol doesn’t mix with your meds?”

“Don’t worry,” he says, and it sounds casual, but his jaw is tight and she sighs to herself. It’s been hard setting boundaries. Jack is nearly 20, and hasn't lived with them since he was 15—that is, until he was found on the floor of a hotel bathroom, unconscious.

It’s not far to Smith, the residence hall where they are staying. Their rooms are side-by-side on the second floor above the lounge: small beige boxes, each with a desk, a dresser, and a twin-sized bed made up with plain white sheets. It looks like a minimum security prison—or a low-rent rehab facility. Alicia hopes it doesn’t trigger Jack, but he doesn’t comment.

“This room would look a lot better with an area rug and a George Michael poster.”

“Who?”

 

When Alicia knocks on Jack’s door the next morning, he’s freshly showered after his customary run. She hands him his medication, which he takes with a mumbled thanks. In the dining hall, eighty alumni and guests meet for breakfast before the first lecture of alumni college. Alicia marvels at the new dining facilities and takes seconds of the French toast. Jack has four eggs, scrambled with turkey bacon, mushrooms, spinach, and tomatoes, no cheese.

“This French toast is incredible. You should try it. Live a little.”

He takes a bite and she can tell he likes it, but he just says, “I’ll stick with eggs. Good protein.”

The topic of this year’s alumni college is Women in Intercollegiate Athletics, which Alicia figures will at least hold Jack’s interest. The introductory lecture has the rather grandiose title “Athlete in the Mirror: How Women’s Sports Reflect the Good and Bad of Our Culture.” It will be followed by a panel discussion on the impact and unintended consequences of Title IX.

 

“So what do you think?” Alicia asks afterward, when they go to set their trays on a table for lunch.

Jack opens his mouth to answer when he’s interrupted by a shout from across the room.

“Alicia Laurent!!!”

Alicia and Jack turn. A short man with curly brown hair and a red beard is waving frantically in their direction. “Come sit with the class of 1995!”

Jack just shrugs when Alicia raises her eyebrow at him. “Sure, whatever. Do you know him?” They are both used to her being recognized and called by name, like a long lost friend. And it’s usually a way to judge who really knows her. Is she Alicia Laurent, _Elle_ cover model, Golden Globe nominee? Or Alicia Zimmermann, wife, mother, major donor? But here at Samwell, where she attended as a Laurent and has donated time and money as a Zimmermann, there is no telling which she’ll be called.

“Reg Miller. He was on the Alumni Council when I was president.”

There’s a lot of catching up over lunch. Mostly Jack seems content to just let it wash over him. He answers questions politely, but obviously doesn’t want to talk. Alicia is the only person at alumni college from the class of 1985. Most of the other attendees are celebrating their 50-year reunion, although there are about a dozen people from more recent classes.

“We’re talking about moving to Seattle,” Reg Miller says at one point in the conversation. “But my partner is Filipino and I don’t know if there’s much of a community for him there.”

“Oh, I could never leave Boston. Samantha and I were one of the first couples to marry in Massachusetts back in Oh-Four,” says someone else, patting her wife’s hand. “Another state might not even recognize our marriage!”

After the meal, Alicia and Jack have time to visit the bookstore before the afternoon activity, a tour of the athletic complex north of Bristol Street, including Faber, the ice rink.

“It’s like you were the only straight person at Samwell,” Jack says as they walk, shaking his head in wonder. Alicia just smiles.

 

Their tour guide is named D’Leka and she graduated three days ago with a degree in political science.

“Any plans for what comes next?” Alicia asks.

“Not really. I’m going back to Pittsburgh for the summer and I’ll figure it out.”

“Twenty-five years ago, I didn’t have any specific plans either,” Alicia admits. “And it’s worked out okay.”

“I’ve heard that from a bunch of alumni today and it makes me feel a lot better. My best friend has had a job lined up in Albany since, like, January…So, what was your major?” D’Leka asks her.

“French with a minor in international relations.” She catches Jack’s look of surprise and turns to him, “What, did you think I was just a pretty face?”

“ _Maman_ , you were literally discovered at a cosmetics counter.” It’s a well-known story.

“Okay, but before that I was just a girl from Indiana—the first in my family to go to college—looking for a way to make a difference in the world.”

Jack looks thoughtful at this.

 

D’Leka is a particularly fitting tour guide for the athletic complex because she was the manager of the Samwell Men’s Hockey team.

“And here we have Faber. It was built in 1975 and named for Berinhard “Bear” Faber, coach of the men’s ice hockey team from 1947 to 1969. Some of you may have known him,” she says to the older alums. There are a few nods.

Inside the stadium, Alicia watches as Jack stills, closes his eyes, and breathes the cool air. Ice. It’s where he seems to feel most at ease. Maybe this rink could be his home for a few years. She thinks Samwell would suit him.

“Hey. Jack, right?” Alicia hears the tour guide address her son and she moves away to give them some room to have a conversation. Jack doesn’t have many friends near his age. Not since juniors, not since Kent.

“So, are you considering Samwell?” D’Leka asks him. Alicia strains her ears for Jack’s answer. They haven’t talked much about Jack going to school, so she’s not sure what he’s thinking. Jack’s voice is too quiet for her to hear, but D’Leka continues, so Jack must not have dismissed the idea. “I could introduce you to Coach Hall. He’s here all week doing orientation with the new assistant hockey coach.”

Jack seems uncertain. “Um.”

But the girl goes on. “And I have to drive the shuttle from the airport tonight, but once I get back, maybe you’d want to come meet some of the other students who are still on campus? I don’t think there’s much going on tonight otherwise. And I could take you to the Haus, that’s where some of the hockey team lives. Though it’s sort of a dump…”

Alicia tries to look at Jack and D’Leka without being obvious. D'Leka has smooth brown skin and black braids to the middle of her back. She’s leaning toward Jack, eyes wide, waiting for an answer. He just looks uncomfortable, and completely oblivious to her earnest flirting.

“I…think I’ll just stay in tonight. But I guess I’d meet the coach, if it’s no trouble…Thanks.”

 

Dinner that night is served at 5pm. The sun is still hours from disappearing behind the Founders carillon. “I’m going to be starved later if I eat this early,” Alicia whispers to Jack, as their student waiter puts her plate of grilled chicken and roasted vegetables on the table. Jack doesn’t answer and Alicia follows his gaze. _Oh._ The waiter has honey blond hair and dimples. He’s cute. His nametag says Reece Wallace ’11, San Dimas, CA.

Jack’s eyes snap back to hers. “I have CLIF bars,” he says, proving that he’d heard her. He blushes though, when she winks at him. “ _Maman_ …”

 

At breakfast the next morning, Alicia looks around for cute student worker Reece, but doesn’t see him. She leads Jack instead to sit with an alumna from the class of 1960, who is also a professor emeritus of history.

“Professor Donaldson, I don’t know if you remember me, but I took your HST345 class as a first year student, in the spring of ‘82.”

The woman smiles warmly. “Global Revolutions, right? Alicia. You’re hard to forget—even if you hadn’t gone on to Hollywood. That was a junior seminar, too, but I don’t remember how you managed to convince me to let you register…”

“I must have used my Laurent charm,” Alicia says smoothly. “And this is my son, Jack.”

Their conversation is lively and Alicia is happy to see Jack listening intently. As they head to their final alumni college lecture, the professor promises to email Jack a list of books she thinks he might like.

 

The last alumni college activity is “30 Years of Samwell Women’s Ice Hockey,” a lecture by the Director of Athletics, who had also been one of the players on Samwell’s inaugural women’s hockey team. As the lecture wraps up, Jack’s phone buzzes and Alicia looks over curiously. Not many people have his new number. “Looks like I’ve got a meeting with Coach Hall later,” he explains.

Jack disappears that afternoon and Alicia does her best not to worry. Her son is 6’1” and close to 190 pounds of lean muscle. He’s safe in Samwell, though she will never, ever forget how fragile he’d looked in the hospital after his overdose. She turns her attention to greeting her classmates, who are now arriving for the reunion, some with younger children, others with coolers and grocery bags. A tent has been erected outside Smith Hall where the class of ‘85 is going to have a DJ and dancing later that night.

 

Alicia texts Jack a reminder that he has a ticket for the all-school picnic on Lake Quad and he shows up toward the end of the meal.

“The team here isn’t very good,” he tells her, “for being D-I hockey. But the coach is offering athletic scholarships to actively recruit better players and the new assistant, Murray, played in the AHL for the Bulldogs.”

Jack has always kept his emotions mostly hidden, but Alicia can see that talking to the coach has left him hopeful and a little excited.

“And he suggested that I consider coaching, since I…”

 _Attempted suicide and missed the draft_ , Alicia thinks.

“…don’t have a team right now,” Jack finishes.

Alicia realizes that she dwells on Jack’s overdose much more than he does. And she needs to let him get on with his life—in whatever form that might take. She carefully refrains from showing too much enthusiasm for the coaching idea. This all has to be Jack’s decision. What she and Bob think is encouragement, Jack reads as pressure. It has given him an anxiety attack before.

 

As her classmates set out a rather impressive array of beer, liquor and mixers under the tent, Alicia wonders if it was a good idea to bring Jack to a place where alcohol was flowing so freely. But alcohol wasn’t really his problem. Besides, at home he could legally buy his own, so it’s not like there’s some sort of illicit attraction.

She drinks in moderation, but some of the other alumni aren’t as careful. This is their chance to cut loose—away from jobs and families, so she doesn’t blame them. And they’re hilarious to watch.

Alicia hadn’t expected the party to get crashed by the reunion’s student staff, but at some point she looks over the dancing crowd to see some younger people fishing beer bottles from the melting ice in a cooler.

“Hey, are you drinking our booze?” she asks, almost yelling to be heard over Bowie’s _Let’s Dance_. “’Cause if you are, you should at least stay and shake your asses.”

The students turn to her and she sees that one of them is Cute Reece. He gives her a happy grin and tugs his friends into the center of the tent where people are dancing.

“Well, that’s awkward,” says one of Alicia’s classmates, some minutes later. The woman lifts her vodka tonic to indicate Reece. “That’s my summer intern. He starts on Monday…And now I know he can’t dance for shit.”

Alicia laughs. “Was that a requirement? Did he misrepresent himself?”

“No, of course not, but it just goes to show that gay men don’t necessarily dance—or dress—any better than the rest of us.”

“Yeah, you just can’t make assumptions,” Alicia agrees, glancing over to where Jack is sitting on the periphery, just watching the party. She’s pretty sure there’s nothing in his red plastic Samwell University Reunion cup except water.

An hour later, she realizes that he’s no longer there, but when she leaves the cover of the tent and looks up at the second floor of the residence hall, she can see that a small light is on in his room.

 

Saturday’s schedule is pretty loose. Jack holds Alicia’s phone and keys while she has her picture taken with the other alumni from the class of 1985. Then they take a tour of Founders and consider attending a series of short lectures that were described on the poster as “Samwell’s Answer to Ted Talks.” Instead she senses that Jack could use a break, so they leave campus and have a quiet lunch together at a sandwich shop overlooking the river.

The annual Alumni Awards are presented in the auditorium that afternoon. The first recipient started a non-profit that places children’s books in New York City barbershops to help foster a love of reading in young black boys. In Alicia’s class, the winner, nominated by her classmates, is an expert in human trafficking law, combating workplace exploitation and other human rights abuses of immigrants. The director of athletics who had presented at alumni college is the final Wellie to receive accolades, for her service to the University and as a board member of the National Association of Collegiate Women Athletics Administrators.

At the conclusion of this year’s awards presentation, the University President asks all past Alumni Award winners to stand up and be recognized. Alicia rises from her seat. Her connection to Samwell is both deep and broad. More than her grandparents' wheat farm or the catwalks of Milan and New York, more than her homes in Pittsburg and Montreal where she attempted give Jack a normal life, Samwell forged her. She’s always given back, now she hopes to offer what is most precious—her son.

 

Before dinner, Alicia’s class has a silent auction to raise funds for an endowed scholarship. She sips red wine and bids on things she doesn’t really need—a vacation rental in Hyannis Port, a piece of art by a classmate who has work at the MOMA, a selection of books by Samwell alumni. Jack stands at the corner of the room watching sports commentary on the television in the neighboring coffee lounge.

Dinner is a series of appeals: for more information to share in the quarterly newsletter, for more money for the scholarship, for mirth and memories as the emcee asks them all to “remember when.” The in-jokes go over Jack’s head, but he spends much of the dinner talking to a spouse who is the education director at the Sixth Floor Museum in Dallas.

The class dinner wraps up with a mediocre pie à la mode and the results of the silent auction. Alicia watches Jack push cherries around his plate, but not really eat them, and nearly misses that she has won the etching.

“You don’t have to eat it, you know.”

“I don't really like pie.” He lays down his fork.

"The quality of the pie depends on the baker. Find the right baker, you'll find the right pie."

 

“I’m sure there's somewhere you can watch the game,” Alicia comments when they stop at the car to put the framed print in the trunk. Tonight is the first game of the Stanley Cup finals and every other year of his life, Jack has watched the game with rapt attention, either in person or in front of a television.

But this evening, Jack looks uncertain. Las Vegas at Chicago. She’s not surprised that he’s torn.

“Or, you know, it’s your last night here. Maybe you don’t want to spend it glued to a screen.”

Down the sidewalk a knot of student workers, all dressed in red polos with the Samwell logo, is headed toward them, probably on their way to their own reunion dorm. She recognizes D’Leka, Reece, and the girl with a nose ring from Indy who had made Jack’s omelets each morning.

D’Leka brings the group to a halt. “Hey, Jack. Plans tonight?”

Jack glances at Alicia, who gives the tiniest of shrugs.

“I guess not?”

“Great! Now you do! We’re all going to change into something less official and then make the rounds of the alumni parties. I hear Oh-Five has a shaved ice machine and they’re making snow cone margaritas. By the way, this is Amanda, Jorge, Lizzie, and Reece. Guys, this is Jack; he might be interested in the men’s hockey team.”

“Me, too,” Reece says with a smirk. He gets elbowed by the girl with the nose ring.

“Anyway,” D’Leka continues, as if she hadn’t heard, “we can meet you at Smith and go from there.”

“Okay,” Jack says. He looks a bit stunned by this sudden leap into a social life.

“Wear your dancing shoes,” Reece calls over his shoulder as they leave.

Alicia stifles a giggle as Jack looks down at his sneakers in confusion. “If it’s too much,” she reminds him, “you can just excuse yourself and go back to your room.”

“I know.”

“Just be safe and have fun. In that order.”

 

Jack seems concerned about what to wear, but settles on gray jeans and a black t-shirt. “Just trying to fit in,” he explains. “But I didn’t bring any other shoes. Except for my running shoes.”

“You’re fine,” she assures him.

An hour later, the colored lights in the party tent are flashing in time with ‘80s tunes played at full volume. For now Alicia is content to sip her drink and keep a surreptitious eye on her son and his new acquaintances.

They don’t stay long. Mostly they grab beer and soda for themselves, dance a bit and head out for another party, Jack in tow. He only looks slightly panicked. She wants to ask him for a number, but just gives him a little wave. He’s fine.

She opens a can of coke and pours it into her reunion cup with an extra healthy dose of rum. She’s fine. Then she hears “ _Dearly beloved, We are gathered here today, To get through this thing called life_ ” and she gets pulled into the dancing.

She sees Jack again just after midnight, walking past the nets that had been set up for some pickup volleyball that afternoon. The crowd of kids has been abandoned and Jack is alone with Cute Reese. She watches until they’re lost in the dark.

 

Jack doesn’t run on Sunday morning. Uncharacteristically, he’s still in bed when Alicia knocks on the door to his room.

“Feeling okay?” she asks. “Coffee before we head out?”

“I’m good,” Jack assures her. “I got in pretty late. Or early. Whatever.” He blushes and she has to bite her tongue to keep from prying. _Let him have this_ , she reminds herself. _Let him be a young man, not just a recovering addict. Allow him to make his own choices again._

They go to Annie’s, which has been a Samwell University institution for thirty years or more. No one remembers who Annie was, but the logo on their takeout cups is a little white terrier.

“I had such a good time here,” Alicia says when she and Jack sit down with their coffees (a splash of half and half for her, black for him) at a table outside.

“This weekend?” he asks. He looks relaxed, not that she would dare to remark on it. His blue eyes (sky blue like all the Laurents before him) are bright.

“This weekend,” Alicia confirms. “But also the four years I spent here as a student. Everyone thinks their school is special, but this place…” she pauses, considers what she wants to say. “This place helps you find the authentic person inside yourself. Helps you figure out what’s really important to you.

“The time I spent in LA—and New York, and Europe—was good. And I navigated it without losing myself because Samwell had taught me that personal responsibility can’t be separated from societal responsibility. I think many actors and professional athletes forget that their lives are actually small; they’re just living them on a big stage.”

She laughs a little. “This is also a good place to reinvent yourself. An Indiana farm girl can learn enough French to read the fine print when she signs with a Parisian agent. And be familiar enough with Roch Carrier to impress a handsome francophone Quebecer.”

“I thought you met through Uncle Mario.”

“We did. But do you really think all we talked about was hockey?”

“Well, now it sounds like you talked about a _story_ about hockey.”

“At that point in his life, your _papa_ didn’t have much else on his mind,” she admits. She clasps him on the shoulder. “We should pack up and get out of here.”

 

They’ve taken the exit for I-89 North before Jack brings up Samwell again. He taps his fingers on his knee and then, consciously, stills his hand. “My grades in high school were good.”

Alicia changes lanes. And waits.

Jack gives her a wry smile. “And I could write a pretty good admissions essay about dreams deferred, or something.

“The deadline for this fall is long past, but I can coach and skate—I’ll have to take the SATs—and apply for fall 2011. What do you think?”

Her heart feels too big for her chest. Without looking away from the highway, she reaches over and tucks his overlong hair behind his ear.

“I’ll be very proud if you become a Wellie. But Jack, I’m proud of you regardless.”

**Author's Note:**

> From Wikipedia: Roch Carrier is a Quebec author whose most famous work, [The Hockey Sweater](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Hockey_Sweater), is considered an iconic piece of Canadian literature. The story has sold over 300,000 copies and has been republished in numerous anthologies. It exemplifies the nation's passion for hockey, and while it is often considered an allegory of the relationship and tensions that exist between francophones and anglophones, the story is popular throughout the entire nation. A line from the story appears on Canadian five-dollar bills printed between 2001 and 2013.
> 
> One of my classmates actually is a historian at the [Sixth Floor Museum](http://www.jfk.org/) in Dallas. I think the Kennedy assassination would interest Jack.
> 
> Check out [Barbershop Books](https://barbershopbooks.org/), the non-profit started by another alumnus from my school. The [ human trafficking expert](https://www.splcenter.org/about/staff/dan-werner) is also my classmate.
> 
> And please tell me you all recognize the opening lines to "Let's Go Crazy" by Prince.


End file.
